Le Miserable

I was in it, baby. The zone. Where I was laser-focused, by-passing temptation, avoiding distraction, checking stuff off the to-do list like a high-paid personal assistant. It was nearing the end of the afternoon, and although it was seemed fitting to sit on the couch with the Yoshi and kids, I decided to tackle the one last item that had been on my list for, say like....2 months.
I was finally going to turn our family photo shoot into a cute little photo book.
Now I know this seems like an easy task. And in theory, it is. But let me address some of my issues. I have been diagnosed with organizationally challenged disorder. This disrupts more areas of my life than you would ever guess. And- believe it or not- photo book making is one of the affected areas. 
I start off by gathering all the genre-appropriate  pictures and getting them in the designated picture library. That completes the "add photos" section of the process. That's the section where I feel on the ball, where I make plans about conquering the world, and possibly becoming a professional photo-book maker because I'm that good at it.
So it's only fitting that directly after that step- when my head-size resembles that of a caricature drawing-  that is when I get whacked in the shins with the humble stick. Because all of a sudden, they want me to organize the photos I have put in the library. And I start freaking out. Should I order them chronologically, or by child, or by event, or by venue, or by color scheme, etc etc??? Instantaneously, I am stressed to the max and can barely breathe due to my over-beating heart and simultaneously my vision becomes blurred.
At this point, I usually sit frozen at the computer for 3 minutes before I close all the windows and simply walk away. Declaring it enough for one day. That is how I roll.
But not yesterday. Huh uh.
 When I reached that point in the process, I went on ahead and took some deep breaths and started in on some pep talk about not being a quitter, about being laser-focused, about getting 'er done. About the fact that I'm a freaking adult and that adults don't just talk....they do.  And somehow, some way....I believed it all and pushed through. 
I decided this picture goes with other interior shots even though there are human beings in the frame.

I did solo shots of all three boys and then this one of them all together before putting and pictures of Kaia. 

I never questioned whether or not this picture would get a spot on it's very own page.

I decided it wasn't {completely} self-indulgent to put in pictures of....just me.

I decided there was no such thing as too many pictures of Kaia.

Are you hearing what I'm saying? I was deciding and organizing in a timely fashion. Without quitting. For the first time ever....EVER....I made a photo book in one sitting. 
Can we talk about the feeling of accomplishment? Crack doesn't have anything on accomplishment. It feels straight up, organically good. And I was soaking it up. Basking in a job well done. I finished it all off and clicked the purchase button.
And up popped the red exclamation point, indicating congratulations?
No, no. Not the case.  Indicating a warning of grave danger, y'all. 
It took a minute for me to process, perhaps for me to accept, what this paradoxical exclamation point was trying to tell me.... because there is nothing exciting and happy and YAY!!! about the fact that all the work I had just done was no good. That I was back at square one. That I had used the wrong picture folder- the web only resolution folder- to make my book. The photos, all 26 pages of them- 26 pages that were done in one sitting I might add for those that missed that detail- all 26 pages contained photos with low resolution. That would be utterly unacceptable for a book.
I silently closed the computer and made my way to the shower to prepare for the showing of Les Miserables. As my tears fell through the movie, I don't know if I was crying because of their story or mine. That I was now one of them.  I was Le Miserable.

{All photos taken by the most incredible Rachel Thurston}